Bronwyn Scott - How to Ruin a Reputation

Ashe sighed. The reasons for marriage were mounting. His desire for freedom, to make his own choice when the time came were starting to look petty and stubborn next to the gains the marriage would give him.

At the door he was told Mrs Ralston was in the back gardens and was shown to a brightly done sitting room at the front of the house where he could wait. If the room was indicative of Seaton Hall’s recent fortunes, the American was doing very well for herself indeed. The creamy-yellow paint was fresh, the white-plaster moldings newly painted. Dusky-blue curtains framed the long windows overlooking the front drive. The pillows on the blue-and-yellow sofa were invitingly plump. Best of all, there was a pianoforte along the wall.

Ashe ran his hands along the keys experimentally, noting the full, mellow tones. It must be new if it had the Babcock strings. Curiosity piqued, Ashe gently lifted the lid of the case and peered inside, the old excitement rising. Ah, yes, the soundboard was cross-strung. He couldn’t resist.

Ashe sat down and began to play. It felt good, it felt liberating. There was no one to judge, no one to impress. This was just for him.

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